


Love's Philosophy

by katiebour



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the k!meme:</p><p>  <i>This morning, I find myself being reminded of just how ... appealing drell lips are. </i></p><p>  <i>Someone should write something about drell lips. Either a prose piece from the point of view of someone admiring them in-game (during sex or not, whatever) or a bit of something poem-like. </i></p><p>  <i>Something that inspires me to paint more lips would be fun, but I could always just paint more for no apparent reason I suppose...</i></p><p>http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/6870.html?thread=31235542#t31235542</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Philosophy

She'd been reading old books again. It was quiet after hours, but that was by choice and design rather than necessity. During the ten hour "day" cycle monitors hummed quietly, messages from hundreds of contacts poured into her extranet inbox, and she worked.

The night cycle she took for herself, at least in theory. In reality she often fell asleep over her omni-tool, making deals, brokering peace, putting things right.

He'd admonished her gently more than once, waking her with a touch to the shoulder and a hot, caffeinated drink in hand.

Her eyes scanned the words again, flicking between the data-pad and the man who sat comfortably ensconced across from her, the silence between them familiar, content as they read companionably.

Shelley, and beautiful it was, too. So was he.

Eyes dark, hints of green and blue in their depths. His jaw delinated by both color and the plate line, a lower lip that might justly be called _pouty_ were it not that her serious friend would more accurately be described as _stoic._

Color rioted through him in vivid shades, from the indigo of his frill to the green and violet of his crest, to the gold of his face and the delicate rose of his chin and lips. She'd never seen such a spectacularly hued drell, and suspected that he was unusual even amongst his own people.

She'd thought he was lost to her, that both of them were- and suddenly, miraculously, she had them both back. Her commander, her friend, and-

-him.

_What are all these kissings worth-_

He looked up, met her gaze, and smiled slightly, mobile lips tilting upward at the corners, a flash of white teeth.

Her heart tumbled.

"Hmm?" he said, and she shook her head, returning her eyes hurriedly to the data-pad.

She read a half-dozen other poems, then flicked back to the first, musing. She started slightly when he turned on a bit of music, then walked down the quiet corridor to the galley. He cooked. He always cooked, and she never questioned it, no more than the many small tasks he took to keep the station running, to care for her. During the day he cross-referenced dozens of reports, his eidetic memory organizing everything in sync with Glyph despite the former's avowed dislike of the latter.

What would she do without him? And there would be a time, soon enough. She would live for centuries, and he, for less than one. 

It had already been weeks, months that he'd spent recovering from the yahg's torture.

_What are all these kissings worth,  
If thou kiss not me?_

She broke out of her reverie as he appeared with plates, handed her one, and sat with his own. Through lowered lids she watched as he cut a bit of fish with the side of his fork, then speared the morsel and ate it, flash of pink tongue and white teeth, lips closing around the tines of the fork before it slid out, chewing methodically and swallowing as he speared another bite.

"Good?" he asked a few moments later, and she blushed, the blue of her skin hopefully concealing her embarrassment in the low light, and busied herself with the meal.

"Delicious," she answered between bites, and it was.

He shone in the light, her friend, her companion, one of the very few people in the galaxy who knew who she was now, knew her secrets, knew _her_ , and who understood without it ever being said that they were using what they had towards the greatest good, that being the Shadow Broker was less about power (although there was power aplenty) and more about responsibility, something they both took seriously.

_Nothing in the world is single;_  
 _All things by a law divine_  
 _In one another's being mingle;--_  
 _Why not I with thine?_

That damned poem was going to haunt her all night. She handed over the cleared plate with a small inward scowl, wondering if she should work. The Batarian Hegemony was negotiating a trade deal with one of the human colonies in the Verge, but she suspected that it was just a matter of time until they contacted some of their privateers to pillage the place, taking creds, goods and slaves alike while denying all official knowledge-

"Liara," he said, and she looked up to see he'd returned. "No more work today."

"I wasn't working," she said defensively, "I was reading. Earth poetry."

"Oh?" he said, brow ridge raised, and sat next to her, picking up the discarded data-pad.

Goddess, she'd left it on that one. She put on a composed face, looking away while he scanned it.

And then he started to read in that raspy tenor, and she was caught, captivated.

_The fountains mingle with the river,_  
 _And the rivers with the ocean;_  
 _The winds of heaven mix forever,_  
 _With a sweet emotion;_  
 _Nothing in the world is single;_  
 _All things by a law divine_  
 _In one another's being mingle;--_  
 _Why not I with thine?_

He paused for a long moment. She couldn't look at him, on fire with embarrassment. He began again, voice even:

_See! the mountains kiss high heaven,_  
 _And the waves clasp one another;_  
 _No sister flower would be forgiven,_  
 _If it disdained its brother;_  
 _And the sunlight clasps the earth,_  
 _And the moonbeams kiss the sea;--_  
 _What are all these kissings worth,_  
 _If thou kiss not me?_

"Lovely prose," she babbled into the quiet that stretched between them. "19th Earth century _anno domini_ , as they used to say. Romantic era; I can see why. Poor man died at sea before age thirty-"

"Liara," he said, gently, and she sucked in a breath as a smoothly scaled hand found her chin, tilting her head to look at him.

"Yes?" she answered, and Goddess, had she just _squeaked?_ She was the Shadow Broker, and the foremost information trader in the known galaxy did _not_ squeak.

"What are all these kissings worth," he said quietly, intimately, looking into her eyes, and the hitch in her breath, the heat in her cheeks were laid bare before him.

"Feron," she all but whispered, and soft, warm lips found hers a moment later.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem "Love's Philosophy" is by Percy Bysshe Shelley.


End file.
